#dragonadayfr

@dragonaday-fr Day 12, a carpenter.

I do actually have a carpenter dragon. Just the one, so this was easy enough to decide on.

This here's Rom. Carpenter/Architect of Amberspire and Ever-Autumn.

It is a very demanding job, and having the approval of his bosses isn't the same of having the approval of the Forest itself, so it's a whole... it's a whole thing.

@dragonaday-fr Day 6

A Dragon and Their Matching Familiar

Enrialla, my oldest dragon, and her beloved Bast.

Bast is in fact the youngest of a long line of King Parda, bred for the ancient royal family Enrialla's blood is tied to since the species itself was domesticated.

As old as she is, Enri has had many beloved familiars live and pass under her care. Bast, however, she finds herself exceptionally bonded to. Thankfully, they are a long-lived creature, and she looks forward to many years with her beloved companion.

As for the picture, um, well. It fought me from the start to end. I was baffled as to why, but finally noticed /when I was almost done lining/, that my pen settings had reset. Dear lord.

Day 28: Your Dream Dragon

This is what I want

This is what I want

It was clear from the moment he hatched that he was... abnormal. Anomalous, like his mother.

It was never kept a secret from him. It was pointless to do so - and dangerous, as well, given said traits.

His father gave up everything to raise him alongside his twin there, shut away in his little cabin in the woods. Ink was taught to read and write, taught to cook, and tried so, so very desperately to take to heart his father's teachings in being good.

He wanted so, so badly to be good.

And, usually, he was. But there were times he could not control himself - when his rational mind slipped elsewhere and something else took over.

Whenever he came back, he'd see the terror in his father's face - something both present, and from the recent past. He hated seeing it. He hated knowing he was at once so loved and so feared by his family.

In his darkest times, that love was nothing more than a nail that held him in place; something painful that he couldn't be free of without causing even more damage.

Scratch was so very much like his father, and so very different from his brother.

At least, on the surface. Inside, he knew he was much closer to his twin than his family could fathom.

He too felt the rage, the loss of self and control, and the utter terror he'd seen so clearly in his brother from a young age. As a result, he knew completely how hard it was to fight off, even for himself, who seemed to be so much less afflicted.

Perhaps it was for this reason he was so very close to his twin; always patient, always at his side and doing his best to help. When they were in control of themselves, they never fought - and when Scratch did lose control, it was always Inky who stepped up to take the blame and cleaned up the mess.

Scratch didn't understand why his brother did so. Their father never was angry about the damage they caused.

It wasn't until they were older that he finally understood that it wasn't him who was being protected.

@dragonaday-fr day 20, Ancient breed.

@dragonaday-fr

Day 16: a dragon that belongs to someone else!

Or how 'bout 7 of them? I couldn't pick, so I sneakily had people show me their dragons! You all have been bamboozled! Avast!

In orderrr

@pudgykookaburra, @krythea-art

@luteia-fr, @ewoman, @chaosnebula

@dire-vulture, @theunfortunatedruid

Severely delayed penultimate entry for @dragonaday-fr

An Old Dragon

I already drew my eldest, Enrialla. But only minutes away from her is her mate, Void.

A stark contrast to his polite but reserved wife, Void is a friendly and warm man who happily maintains their chalet every day, and relaxes in the common room and tells stories by night.

He is always friendly to visitors new and old, and notably gentle in spite of how riddled with scars he is. Much like Enrialla, little is known of his past - and he is similarly tight-lipped.

His most notable story, however, is one of a princess who fell for a warlord long ago…"

Like Enri, he is absolutely ancient, born on the day of dragonkind's true dawn. (Opening day of the FR website itself!)

I have a gentle sort of headcanon that the older a dragon is, the more it can start to look fucked up regardless of breed, etc.

Void's horns branch off into bizarre, occasionally logic-defying spires, and his voice - though warm - has developed an unearthly quality.

That aside, he has a feather beard and thick plumage everywhere but his face; akin to a vulture, though the colour change isn't so dramatic.

@dragonaday-fr day 23: A Dragon From Something Other Than FR

How about Calem? A dragon who comes directly from my brain.

He's a priest of Baphomet in one of my lil stories.

Also this is a nice chance to show off my preferred way to draw - traditionally! With my watercolour markers!

It was too much yesterday, as well.

She stared up at the ceiling. Dim morning light cast the long, thin shadow of her window frame across it.

She could tell already, she wouldn't be able to rise for more than a moment. She wouldn't be able to do her duties again.

She gingerly shifted her arm from her side to her chest, inspecting the virulent crystal that snaked down it, and covered the back of her hand. Carefully, she tried to close it into a fist.

Immediately, she felt her skin begin to shatter - the frail seams of flesh in between the gems was too inflamed and too dry to move. She stopped, let her hand drop, and choked back a sob.

It's just a flare-up, she told herself, over and over. And it will calm, and I will manage again.

It was an ineffective mantra, but all she could do to try and keep herself calm. The crystals were present on her face and neck, as well, and if she were to let herself so much as grimace, she was certain something would split open.

The priestess took slow, deep breaths, and managed to stay still. If only she could do the same to her own thoughts; prevent them from wandering down a dark path.

But she could not. Lying there with nothing else to focus on, she found herself taking stock of each and every noxious, painful gem marring her skin and burrowed deep in her veins.

She was quietly, fearfully aware that her affliction was spreading. That next it could be her joints or - gods forbid - her eyes. It was only a matter of time.

Tears snaked down over her gems and down her cheeks, and she grit her teeth.

"Meeeew!"

Thupp.

A gentle weight upon the bed. Little paws meandered their way to her pillow, and a very fluffy - and very insistent - head rubbed against hers.

She couldn't do anything to respond, but soon enough her companion had moved again, slipping under her arm and lying on her chest.

She carefully stroked her cat's fur with a single finger as it purred, completely still and calm there with her.

It was easier, then, to believe she might feel better again. At the very least, there was someone else who wanted her to be.